Around the World in 100 Days (13 page)

While Johnny was off buying more grease, Elizabeth appeared carrying a bag of muffins and a container of tea. “Since you didn't come to breakfast,” she said, “I decided to bring it to you.”

“Smashing!” said Harry, surprised at her thoughtfulness. As he reached for a muffin, he noticed his grimy hands. “We've been working on the
Flash
.” He rubbed at the grease and dirt with a rag that was only marginally cleaner than his hands.

“Nothing major, I hope?”

“A cracked gasket on the differential.”

“May I look?”

Harry shrugged. “There's not much to look at; just some gears.”

“I like seeing how things work.” She spread a horse blanket on the ground and crept beneath the jacked-up car. Through the floorboards, Harry heard her say, “The gears don't appear to be damaged. Shouldn't the differential be full of grease, though?”

“Johnny's gone to get some.” When she didn't reappear, Harry said, “What on earth are you doing under there?”

Elizabeth emerged, dusting her hands. “Looking at the frame and the coil springs.” She patted the fender of the
Flash
. “It's an impressive piece of work. I'm beginning to think it could actually make it round the world.”

“Meaning that, up until now, you
didn't
think so.”

“No,” she admitted. “Not really.”

“Then why were you so determined to come along? Why write about an enterprise that's sure to fail?”

“My readers don't want to hear about things that are certain to succeed. They want stories about people struggling courageously against impossible odds.”

“I hope you're making us sound sufficiently courageous.”

“Oh, yes. I'm sure my readers are hanging on every word.”

Johnny hurried in, carrying a tin of grease. “Harry! Come look!”

“What is it, lad?”

“You'll see.”

The intrepid travelers had not encountered another horseless carriage since leaving London. But when they emerged from the barn they were nearly run down by one. The machine was so quiet, they had not heard it coming.

The driver, a portly man with more hair on his face than on his head, yanked on his hand brake, sprang from the car, and doffed his broad-brimmed hat. “My apologies to you, gentlemen, and to you, miss. I didna see you till I was almost upon you.”

“There is no harm done, sir,” said Elizabeth.

“I got word that there was another motorcar in town, and I was anxious to see it before it left.”

“That would be ours,” said Harry.

“You dinna say so! You built her yourselves? Do you mind if I have a wee look at her?”

“Not at all. And I hope we may examine your vehicle?”

“By all means. My name is Morrison, by the by. If you hadna guessed, I'm a transplanted Scotsman. And I'm guessing you're Londoners.”

“An excellent guess,” said Harry.

Morrison's machine was much better built than the other motorcars Harry had come across, and certainly far quieter. “She can't possibly have a gasoline engine,” said Harry. “But I see no smokestack, either.”

Morrison beamed at them. “Nay, nay, she runs on electricity, my friends.” He lifted the seat to reveal an electric motor powered by twenty-four dry storage batteries. “She has but five moving parts.”

Johnny surveyed the bulky battery bank. “'Tis a lot of weight,” he murmured.

“Yes,” said Harry. “I don't suppose she goes very far or very fast.”

“She doesna need to go far,” said Morrison. “I just drive her around the streets of Des Moines, and, as you may have noticed, it's not exactly London, or even Edinburgh. As for her speed ...” He eyed the
Flash
, which looked far heavier than it actually was. “I'll wager that, over a short distance, she can outrun your machine.”

Harry laughed. “I wouldn't wager very much, if I were you.”

His remark clearly irritated Morrison. “How does a thousand dollars sound?” said the man sharply.

Harry stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Perfectly.”

“I'm afraid I don't have nearly that much in American dollars.”

“I'll accept British notes.”

Harry did a quick mental calculation. A thousand dollars was roughly the equivalent of two hundred pounds—about one third of what remained in his money belt. Remembering how he had neglected to consult Johnny when he made his original bet, Harry turned to his friend. “What do you think?”

Before Johnny could reply, Elizabeth said softly, “I wouldn't, if I were you. The
Flash
is powerful, but I'm not sure she's fast enough.”

Johnny gave her a hurt look. “She's plenty fast.”

“He's right,” said Harry. “We can beat that battery-powered perambulator without even trying.” Johnny nodded in agreement.

Elizabeth raised one delicate eyebrow dubiously. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

“Then watch closely.” Harry turned back to Morrison. “All right,” he said. “Let's have a race.”

SIXTEEN
In which

W
hile Morrison went off to his bank to withdraw money for the wager, Johnny took Harry aside. “We will win, won't we?”

Harry patted his shoulder reassuringly. “We can't possibly lose, lad.”

They packed the differential with fresh grease and installed a new leather gasket. As they were cleaning up, Charles finally appeared on the scene. “Everything shipshape and Bristol fashion?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “but we won't be leaving for a while yet. We're going to race the
Flash
against an electric car. You're just in time to place your bet.”

“I am not in the habit of throwing away money on bets.”

“Why am I not surprised?” said Harry. “You might want to reconsider. This is a sure thing.”

“There are no sure things. I suppose you've made a wager of some sort.”

Harry nodded. “A thousand dollars.”

“Why am I not surprised?” said Charles. “See here, Fogg, do you really think you can afford to waste time racing other motorcars? You have a more important contest to worry about.”

“I'm not worried. We've plenty of time. Besides, I undertook this whole trip in order to show what the
Flash
can do. This is just another way of demonstrating that.”

Morrison led them to a level, well-maintained stretch of road bordered by hay fields, just west of town. “Would you consider a mile a fair distance?” he asked Harry.

“One mile or a hundred, it makes no difference.”

“You see the barn with the silo? Let's call the silo our finish line, shall we?”

“I suppose we three should get out,” said Elizabeth. “You'll want the car as light as possible.”

“There's no need,” said Harry. “She can easily carry twice your weight.”

Charles started to climb out of the car. “I agree with Elizabeth. The lighter the better.”

“I'm staying,” said Johnny.

Elizabeth, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, tied the string of her hat tightly under her chin. “So am I.”

“Oh. Well, in that case.” Charles took his seat again.

“Can you handle a pistol?” Harry asked.

“Of course. Why?”

“There's one under the seat. You may be the starter. All right with you, Mr. Morrison?”

“Aye.”

When the road was clear of wagons and carriages, the motorcars lined up side by side. Harry engaged the gears and released the hand brake. “Ready ...” said Charles. “Steady ...” The instant the pistol went off, Harry yanked out the throttle. The
Flash
leaped forward like a greyhound in pursuit of a rabbit.

“Where's Morrison?” he demanded, not wanting to take his eyes off the road.

“Almost even with us!” called Elizabeth. “And he's gaining!”

“I'll be bound! I never dreamed he'd be that fast!” Harry pulled the throttle out almost to its limit and the
Flash
surged ahead. “Where is he now?”

“He can't keep up!” said Elizabeth gleefully, holding on to her hat. “He's dropping back!”

Harry gave a triumphant laugh. He couldn't resist glancing over his shoulder at his opponent. Just as he did, Elizabeth gasped and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh!” she cried. “Look out!”

Harry jerked his head around to see two large dogs, one chasing the other, come loping out of the hay field and directly into his path. “Hang it!” He wrenched the wheel to the left. The car bounded into the ditch and out again, nearly flinging its passengers from their seats; it mowed down a sizable swath of hay before Harry managed to stop.

Morrison was so far behind that the dogs presented no danger to him; totally oblivious of the trouble they had caused, they disappeared into the field across the road. As he sped past the sidelined
Flash
, the Scotsman laid on his electric horn; it gave an irritating, insulting bleat.

“Well,” said Charles. “So much for your sure thing.”

Elizabeth swatted him with her hat. “Oh, do stop gloating. I think it was admirable of you, Harry, to care more about the dogs' lives than about winning the race.”

“Yes, well, they're quite valuable dogs,” said Harry.

“Really?” said Charles. “They looked rather like mangy mongrels to me.”

“Perhaps. But each of those mangy mongrels is now worth five hundred dollars.”

When Harry had paid up, his money belt felt alarmingly thin. As they headed west again, he said to Elizabeth, “I suppose you'll recount all this in your next dispatch.”

“Of course. Why? Are you afraid of looking foolish?”

“Not at all. I just want your readers to know that the Flash
would
have won, except for the dogs.”

“Apparently the papers here aren't following our progress,” said Charles. “No one I spoke to had heard anything about us.”

“It's just as well,” Harry said. “America may have its equivalent of the Luddites. I wouldn't want to run into them again.”

“Luddites?” said Elizabeth.

Charles nodded grimly. “Didn't you hear about our narrow escape back in London?” He pointed at the cracked windscreen. “That's a souvenir of it.”

“I should fix that,” muttered Johnny.

“So,” said Harry. “What did you think of Morrison's electric vehicle?”

“It's very clever, I suppose,” put in Elizabeth. “But I don't think it would make it round the world.”

“It might,” said Johnny, almost to himself. “With some way of charging the batteries.”

Harry laughed. “We'll work on that when we get home.”

“
If
you get home,” said Charles. “I'll be interested to see how you manage to cross the Pacific Ocean, Asia, and Europe with what meager money you have left. I trust you don't expect any help from me. I'm only an observer, remember.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Harry said calmly. Somehow he could not bring himself to worry about such mundane matters. For now, the car was running well and the path before them was straight and smooth. What more could a person ask?

The road was, in fact, so decent that Charles managed to make a fairly legible entry in his journal.

The giddy sense of freedom that had come over Harry on their first day in America returned like a gust of wind; the dull ache that had settled in his arms and back from the long hours of driving seemed to melt away. Back in London, he had seen this country in the same way he saw the Atlantic Ocean—as something to be crossed as quickly as possible. Now he found himself almost wishing that he had no deadline hanging over him, that he could simply go on driving across this uncluttered landscape with no concern at all for actually getting anywhere.